Monday, September 11, 2017

9-11 Never Forget

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good man do nothing.

- Edmund Burke

I'm constantly amazed at the ignorance of man, not just in those situations which can get one killed, through acts of mental complacency generally fueled by alcohol or gasoline, but the seemingly willful ignorance of events that are occurring around them. I know people who have never left their hometown, but what is more incomprehensible to me, is people who have never thought outside their hometown. I've heard as I keep tabs on the world on my days off, "Why do you CARE what's going on in the North Korea or Syria? The new Twilight movie is out!

I've come to the conclusion that there are simply some people who won't grasp the truth of the world until they see the truth of themselves. Knowing yourself is a lifelong and sometimes acutely painful process, with your biggest lessons often emerging from your biggest mistakes. The truth about the nature of man and the world isn't always pleasant, some things we don't want to know - what's really in a hot dog, how many calories there are in a piece of pie, and anything at all about anyone named Kardashian. Some things we cannot bear to know. But that knowledge of some things, no matter how hurtful to ones' spirit, is absolutely essential to our well-being, for only with truth do we have the resilience, the capacity to continue on, alive in the moment, unbound by regret and willing to fight.

In a disaster, in threat, to us as individuals, to us as a nation, the nature of truth, and how we face it, asserts itself.

Those who take charge do, those who choose to hide from things do, be it a disaster, heartbreak, the economy, crime or a terrorist attack. After 9-11, I had one acquaintance who refused to watch the news, heading out on a planned vacation and pretending it never happened. Another watched sitcom TV nonstop, staying home from work with a bowl of popcorn. Both of these individuals were in denial, afraid to accept the truth.

Some friends of mine who are first responders at the federal level were, within the last year, in my city, staying at my house while they attended some training. They could have stayed at a hotel but they choose to stay with their unofficial "little sis". I looked at the house as my friends packed up to leave. It looked as if a testosterone bomb had gone off in here, guns, ammo, knives squirrel gear and more than one badge. It was loud and it's messy, and sometimes it's bloody, but I wouldn't have traded my life, my duty, and my bond with these people for anything. We shared the fidelity with people we were bound to protect, even if we didn't particularly like them. We've slept on the bare ground and we know the sound of a bullet as it comes at us, not next to us at some sunny gun range, that sound that breaks the barrier that most people live behind. We've discovered things that are not so much "shiny" as unearthing a grave with bare hands and sticks, revealing more than just the comprehension of bereavement and irreparable finality, but that which is visible only to each other.

I was going to hate the sound the garage door made as it came down as they drove away, I would pretend the tears were allergies. My husband would hug me laer and understand.

On the shelf, packed from a trip to my Dad's, is a stone, full of fossilized seashells. When I was home just before he died, my big brother told me about it. It came from the quarry we did our target shooting at as kids with our Deputy Sheriff Mom. He squirreled it away when it was unearthed, knowing what a find it was, so many miles from the sea. He told me he wanted me to have it. He then quietly took me to Dad's garage and opened a drawer where he had hidden it as a child, picked it up carefully and gave it to me. We've both seen a lot in our careers, that we can't discuss, even with one another. We don't discuss it now, we won't discuss it after we retire, we won't write a book about it. There's an oath we took and we honor that. The rock was his way of acknowledging that what I do is important, that no matter how many years pass, he is still there.

It sits now in my office.

On another shelf, behind a desk, is another stone, one that many don't look it, it's just another rock to be collected to most observers, displayed along with other artifacts of memory.

The last couple of weeks have been hard, with travel, some job stress, and stresses at home with travel and pets. This is not quite the life I expected when I hung up my wings for another four years of education on top of two previous degrees and a return to service. But it's the life that fits what strengths I have. I've come home with brain matter on my shoes. I've come home with images a person should never see, playing in my head like a bad film, until sleep comes fitfully. Yet I come home with purpose. With resolution. I've collected those moments of lives, of loved ones, in the minutes before they leave us. I collect what is left, carefully, gently and with reverence, cataloging the bare bones of all that is truly important, so that we can learn from it so that it doesn't happen again. Then I usually go back to an empty room.

After 9/11 while flags waved on cars, and taps played, I thought, now people have to see, finally see that truth is fierce and unrelenting. But soon, most forgot. Truth We cannot ignore it or change it, but we can change the way we live with it. The truth of 9-11 is that the world IS a dangerous place and being politically correct to the point of ignoring the facts of who hates us and who is quietly amassing nuclear readiness while we make nice and look good for the cameras, isn't going to end well.

I finished at the Academy in late summer of 2001 and September 11 occurred when I was still wet behind the ears, assigned some mundane tasks until "something happened". It did. Looking at the images on TV of Ground Zero, we sat, stunned, waiting for travel orders while I tried to not let it out that I had a brother who worked at the Pentagon, his office there smoking on TV. There was no talk, just a breathing that bordered on keening, looking at one another, our team leader, with an alert, profound justice as though we had already seen through the flames to where we would be, the shape of the disaster of which we could not speak. That day was trial by fire.

When I look at that stone behind the desk, I can't help but connect to the event from which it came, vowing never to forget. There is something about a physical remnant of such places, those hallowed spots in which the innocent died, that bears with it the same quality of perspective as those who stood in its shadow, as though the object itself is speaking to us. It speaks to us in silent and profound significance, whispering its own truths.

When I'm out in the field I remember as well. Around me, there is only musing sound, as shadows hang aloft as if from invisible wire, hovering above what remains for eyes to see. A place severed from the living, spectral shadow among that place of circumscribed desolation, filled with the voice of wasted lives and murmuring regret. There, only those left here, who remember history, who will gather what remains, cataloging it for infinity.

As I turned off the lights, the last to leave my office on Friday, I took one last look at a chunk of stone.

It sits in a mundane office, on a flat surface in bitten shadow. It sits near a place where work is done to keep many safe. Most don't see it. It simply sits, in dense stillness, filling the room, the dawn, the dusk, with silent voices. I don't hear the voices but I know they exist. Each morning to start the day in its shadow, warm and safe, we remember that no matter what heartache comes our way, it is nothing compared to what this piece of stone bears witness to.

Those that see it don't look at it closely. But it speaks of so much that our generation, and most of our leaders, will never, ever fathom - the quiet of a shadowed facility where honor stands watch and oaths are kept, a small stone weeps.

My goodness what heartfelt and much needed reminder for all who might chose to push 9/11 back into the corners of their minds. We should NEVER forget this or those who gave their lives to protect us, past present and future.In January the year I was 30 I rec'd my first jury summons along with 60 of my new best friends. Little did I know 9 grand jury members are selected each January and July. The judge fanned out the juror cards selected 9 and I was one of them.The first thing I discovered was how naive I was at 30. The next year of my lifewas spent learning how mean and cruel my little world really was and how much law enforcement does to protect and shield us. So many horrible pictures of what folks do to each other, in order to decide to indict the criminals. We heard very descriptive testimony from hooded undercover agents. Anyway once again I thank all who carry the weight of the cruel world on their shoulders and try to protect the regular citizens from them.Hugs Madi's Mom

No denial, I was just turned off by the endless images that made me think "We can't help but at least we could stop STARing." And the grief thievery. I knew people who really had lost friends in the attacks; I had no need to pretend I did.

I knew before 2001 that these United States have enemies, that planes can be hijacked, and that emergency responders are a special breed of humans.

WOOF! WOOF!

Our Healthy Cooking Blog

Blogville Power of the Paw

Shared for those that Care

Job 12:7

"But now ask the beasts, and let them teach you; And the birds of the heavens, and let them tell you.

Order Saving Grace Just .99 for ebook

About Barkley and His Mom

My Mom started this blog due to requests from friends who wanted a place to go for stories of her furry friend Barkley that weren't in the book and stories of my rescue and new life in my furever home. She donates all of the proceeds from her writing to animal rescue and groups that train search and rescue and service dogs but that's OK, as she still gives me lots of dog treats and toys.

The Book of Barkley is Mom's first memoir. She used to be a jet pilot for somebody's Uncle but now has a Ph.D. in something involving science and bad guys, and a career in federal service doing something with secret squirrels and some good guys. Additional mayhem is provided by my Dad and our 100-year-old "fixer upper" Mission Bungalow.

Her second memoir "Saving Grace - A Story of Adoption" was published in April of 2015". Her Third Book - "Small Town Roads", her first Fiction Novel was published October of 2016 and was an NPR selected "2017 must read" and 2017 Readers Favorite International Book Award GOLD for "Fiction - Religious Theme". Her 4th book, "Calexit, The Anthology", a Novella with other authors, was published in October of 2017 and was on the Amazon Best Seller's list two days later.

Amen.

Abby the Lab Mom's Author Page

FIVE STARS

No one who has ever had a dog as a companion will be able to read The Book of Barkley: Love and Life through the Eyes of a Labrador Retriever by L. B. Johnson with dry eyes.

Johnson tells the story of her life, from childhood to adulthood, from the perspective of her relationship with Barkley, a Lab that she got when he was just a stubborn ball of fur who ‘selected’ her when she viewed the litter of which he was a part. Her descriptions of adjusting to Barkley’s presence in her life, and how this helped her come to terms with and understand her past and learn to take life a day at a time on her own terms will resonate profoundly with anyone who has fallen in love with a dog and had to learn to live with its loss.

This is a story of unconditional love and acceptance, the kind that asks nothing but love in return. As Johnson and Barkley forge bonds of trust and understanding, she also strengthens her human relationships.

This is much more than a mere memoir – it is a story of life and how to live it, and how we humans can learn to live our lives better if we’d only learn to live it like a dog does. The author uses language well, with descriptions of animals, people, and places so vivid you feel that you can feel the textures, smell the odors (pleasant and otherwise) and hear the whining of a puppy needing to go out to do its business. Life can be sad or happy, and the author takes us through it all – a trip that you won’t regret taking. A five-star book that definitely merits the Awesome Indies Seal of Excellence

Easy Ordering for Barkley

Barkley Supports Kevlar for K9's

Click on the photo to read about or donate.

ANGELS AMONG US PET RESCUE

Cilck on the photo for information on how you can save someone's next best friend